


Unspoken Love

by dessertpunk



Series: Lightstairs Fics I wrote to Ghibli Soundtracks [2]
Category: Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, belief that love is unrequited but actually Alastair is just dense and Thomas thinks it's funny, vaguely romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessertpunk/pseuds/dessertpunk
Summary: A daytime tour might have allowed for a better feel of what the city had to offer, but that wouldn’t have been as satisfying as Thomas squeezing his hand in the moonlight.





	Unspoken Love

“I offer my sincerest apologies for the sharp turn our night took,” Thomas laughed, still catching his breath. Alastair hadn’t expected his “tour de Londres” to end with a police officer chasing him, but he wasn’t going to complain. A daytime tour might have allowed for a better feel of what the city had to offer, but that wouldn’t have been as satisfying as Thomas squeezing his hand in the moonlight. He didn’t care to see the city anyway, it was dirty and crowded as any other city its size. The starlight twinkled in Thomas’ eyes and Alastair felt Cupid’s bow targeting him. “So… what did you think? Was it nearly as impressive as Paris?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Alastair’s lips, and a “no” tumbled out. Thomas laughed again, likely thinking he was teasing. It was true, though. London was no Paris, even though Paris hadn't impressed Alastair much to begin with. He had simply wanted to find there something he had lost, despite the general belief that he liked something about the city or perhaps saw a future there. He despaired about it for only a moment, refusing to spoil a good evening with one of his only friends by dwelling on the past. Alastair sat on the ground and leaned back into the wall of the rooftop shed. Thomas took up place next to him, but said nothing. In the distance a street musician could be heard, and Thomas hummed the tune gently.

“What song is he playing?” Alastair whispered, resisting the urge to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas, as good a man as he was, was less interested in the novels and historical texts that cluttered the London institute than his friends and infinitely more interested in the mundane music scene. Alastair remembered that from the letters they swapped in the time since they had left the academy, in the loving complaints that the Fairchild boy was giving him too many books to read at once or that the Herondale children asked him too many questions about things that were easy to gloss over. Thomas had never gone into much detail about it, he was far too reserved, but he mentioned enough that Alastair got the hint. Thomas hummed the tune a few moments more, seemingly to see if he could find memory of it in his mind.

“It’s ‘Maud’,” Thomas whispered back. A smile grew on his lips, and Alastair swore he felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest. Thomas drew up the courage to sing the song for him, it seemed, and in that distracted moment Cupid struck. The night felt warmer now that Thomas’ sweet voice filled it, Alastair only wished he knew a single line so he could join. The words were sweet, even if fairly confusing at first. Lines and verses repeated often, and half the words were the names of flowers. He realized it was a love song, and Alastair was thankful he knew nothing of it as the lyrics went on. 

The songwriter was lovesick, speaking of adorning his lover with any type of beautiful plant he could find, and Alastair could only sympathize. Thomas would look lovely decorated as a “queen of lily and rose”, and Alastair imagined that Thomas would appear to be the morning sun to any flower bearing tree he encountered. He felt betrayed, knowing he could never sing so confidently of this. As if mirroring his thoughts, Thomas’ voice died down. Alastair blinked and cocked his head, to which Thomas replied with a laugh. “You were staring. I didn’t sound that bad, did I?”

He despaired again for a moment, knowing he’d be forced to suppress these feelings once they returned to the institute, but shook it off with a laugh. He made the resolution to instead enjoy the memory of tonight until he died.

“You sounded lovely”


End file.
